Alias: Daddy Page 9

  Last night. Betrayal scored his heart, burned his stomach. He’d never forgive Kerrie for not telling him the truth when she’d had every opportunity last night.

  THE SECOND SHE STEPPED outside, Glynna felt uneasy. Beyond the porch light, the drizzly night was black and uninviting. Streetlights did little to relieve the gloom. To assuage her fears. Fears? Listen to yourself, Glynna Muldoon. You’re being a silly old goose. She turned up the collar of her coat opened her umbrella and crossed to the steps.

  The sounds of distant traffic, of water running into storm sewers, dripping off gutters and pouring from downspouts rushed into her ears. Nothing ominous. Then why did she feel jittery? She hesitated at the top stair. Maybe she should go back inside and finish the laundry, stay in the basement and read a book until Roman and Kerrie ironed out their problems.

  No, Kerrie was too angry at her. She’d better give them all the space they needed right now. Her daughter would soon realize she’d done the best thing for all concerned. Roman seemed like a fine man, and unless her reliable instincts were way off base, he’d do the right thing by her daughter and her granddaughters.

  If Kerrie Carleen would only let him.

  She scrambled off the porch and down the walk. Rain pattered on the umbrella like an anxious voice telling her to hurry, tripling her uneasiness with every step. Sophia Sommerville’s was only three doors down. Right now it seemed a mile away.

  A rustling noise to her left brought Glynna up short Her pulse kicked up a notch. She glanced sharply over her shoulder. Shrubs and bushes, whose shapes and coloring she was familiar with in the daylight looked almost human, menacing and ominous in the dark. She picked up her pace. Her head swinging from side to side as she scurried along, scanning the shadowy landscapes on either side of her.

  Sophia’s porch light was off. Was she out? “Why didn’t I call before I left?”

  She tripped up the stairs, across the wide porch and grasped the handle of the screen door. Locked. She hit the doorbell and called, “Sophia!”

  Hearing hysteria in her voice, Glynna chided herself against giving into the unnamed panic. Something struck her hard in the back. She dropped to her knees. The umbrella flew from her grasp, landing somewhere nearby. Pain centered in her knee caps. Panic revved inside her.

  But a low meow doused it.

  Her stomach flopped and her quickening pulse skidded as if it were a reined horse. She blew out a wobbly breath, half crying, half laughing with relief. “Professor Plum, you nearly did me in, old man.”

  She gathered the yellow-eyed ball of black-and-orange fur into her arms, and struggled to her feet. The usually friendly old tabby let out a yowl as if she’d hurt him. The porch light flared. In its brilliant glare, she noticed blood matting the cat’s fur.

  Sophia stood in the doorway. She noticed the blood, too, and let out a small yelp. “My dear, what’s happened? Are you cut?”

  “I don’t think so.” Glynna’s knees stung as though the skin were scraped off, but that wouldn’t explain blood-on the upper part of her coat. A tremor shuddered through her. This was the second time in two days she’d had blood on her coat.”I think the Professor’s cut himself somehow. We’d better take a look at it.”

  “Well, you’re as pale as a wraith yourself.” She relieved Glynna of the cat. He twisted and yowled as she tried to examine his wound. “Shush, now, Professor. I have to determine if we need to call the vet.”

  Glynna followed Sophia into her kitchen. It took both of them to hold the cat still enough to check. the wound, a shallow slit on his side that must have been made by something with a thin sharp edge. Above the Professor’s protesting yowls, she related her eerie feeling on the walk over. “I guess I spooked myself.”

  “Good night for it. Still, it’s a shame a body can’t walk in her own neighborhood at night these days without feeling afraid.” Sophia released the cat. He tore off to hide and attend to his wound himself. “The Professor didn’t help your nerves any.”

  True, Glynna mused. Plus, she’d probably been reacting to the events of the evening, to what was going on at her house, to the scare from yesterday. No one had followed her from her house. No one.

  ROMAN COULD SWEAR a half hour had passed since Glynna left. His temper grew with every ticking minute. Finally he heard Kerrie coming down the hall. He stared at her as she walked into the living room. She looked edgy. Defensive. Sexy as hell in that fuzzy black sweater and short skirt, her long shapely legs inviting him to forgive her.

  Dammit. How could a man want a woman in the most basic way, while wanting nothing ever to do with her again? “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

  He wasn’t bothering with amenities. Then neither would she. “If I’d had my way you wouldn’t know now.”

  His raven brows flickered with disbelief. “Why?”

  “I don’t want you disrupting my daughters’ lives.”

  “Our daughters, Irish. And I’m sorry if this will upend your life, but get this straight, I’m not walking away. I will be a part of their lives even if I have to fight you through every court in the country.”

  The fierceness of his statement stunned her. “You said you were childless by choice. What are you trying to prove now? That you can hurt me? Well, here’s a bulletin, pal. You already have.”

  “Hurt you? You’re the only one with feelings that count?” He scraped his fingers through his hair and blew out an angry breath. “I thought you were kidding last night when you asked if I had children. You knew damned good and well I thought I couldn’t father a child.”

  “No, I—” But the words choked her. That flash of hurt she’d seen last night, that flicker of pain, old and seasoned, that had danced through his eyes, she had forgotten its source. Anguish dragged the bottom from her stomach, and Kerrie sank into the nearest chair.

  “Yes, Irish,” Roman’s voice was low and cruel. “I told you. You do remember that afternoon, don’t you. Yes, I can see that you do.”

  She closed her eyes as the memory of that hot August afternoon crept from the dark corners of her mind. They’d been in such fierce need of each other she doubted they’d have stopped if the roof were falling on them. Much less for protection. It wasn’t until afterward that they’d considered possible consequences.

  “At least you won’t get pregnant,” he’d laughed, a bittersweet, joyless laugh that had shredded her heart. He’d told her then, about the mumps, about the fertility tests that had confirmed his sterility.

  Kerrie raised her eyes and looked at his accusing face. Her insides shriveled with guilt. She hadn’t wanted to remember. Because she’d thought he was Nick Diamond. Because when she’d discovered she was pregnant, she’d thought he’d lied. Because he’d walked away and never returned.

  But he was back now, demanding the right for a place in his daughters’ lives. She could not deny him this. Could not deny her daughters this. She had to be fair, and within reason, she would be. “If I agree to let you…see Maureen and Gabby, what kind of commitment are you willing to give them? Will you move to Seattle?”

  He hadn’t expected her to acquiesce this easily. Nor had he considered the changes having two children who lived clear across the country from him would mean to his life. Move? Give up his job? “I guess this will be complicated.”

  “No, it will be simple. As simple as possible for the twins’ sakes.”

  “You won’t get an argument from me on that.”

  “Good. So, are you going to move to Seattle?”

  “I’m sure that would suit you, Irish.” He should have known she’d expect him to make all the concessions. “But it doesn’t suit me. If that’s a problem for you, then understand that I will do whatever it takes to have my daughters in my life on as permanent a basis as the law allows.”

  Her heart stung as if from a physical jab. She wasn’t even sharing custody with him yet and already she felt the loss of her babies. The loss of Roman. The awful thing was, he’d be a part of her life forever�
��while not really being a part of her life at all. But her daughters would have their father.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  The telephone spared her the decision. She had turned on the answering machine so Roman and she could hash this out. As far as she was concerned the hashing was over for the night. She excused herself and hurried to the telephone.

  “Let it ring,” Roman said, following right behind her.

  She ignored him and snatched the receiver to her ear. “Muldoon, here.”

  “It’s me,” Cage announced in an oddly curt tone. “You’re needed.”

  A chill flushed her. “Not Loverboy?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On my way to Bud Grimes’s house.”

  The quaver in his voice jarred her. Her mouth dried. Cage didn’t rattle easily and he was rattled. “Bud’s house? Why?”

  “One of his neighbors went over to complain about his dog barking. Found the door ajar and went in. Bud was lying in a pool of blood.”

  “Is he.”

  “Don’t know. Ambulance should be arriving any minute. You want me to pick you up?”

  “No. It’s out of your way. I’ll meet you there.”

  She heard his radio squawk in the background. Cage told her it was the first unit to Bud’s. “Hang on. Maybe I’ll have something new to tell you.”

  He was back in a second. “Bud’s dead, Muldoon.”

  Pain squeezed her heart. Had he killed himself? He’d been depressed since Leah’s murder. But this depressed? She lowered her voice and asked, “Was the wound self-inflicted?”

  “No.” Impossibly, Cage sounded more rattled than before. “His throat was slit.”

  Chapter Eight

  “His throat was slit?” Kerrie felt as if he’d knocked the wind from her. She stifled a gasp. “Like Leah’s?”

  “I don’t know yet” Cage said flatly, his accent pronounced.

  Shivers quaked through her, starting a discordant jangling inside her head. First Leah, now Bud. Was it some grisly coincidence that they’d both been murdered in the same way? She wouldn’t know until she visited the crime scene, but at the moment it called for more imagination than she could conjure. “I’m on my way.”

  She hung up, but her hand remained gripped on the phone. Would they find Loverboy’s signature-cut on Bud’s throat—like the ones they’d found on Wendy Waring and Leah Davis? Had their “Classifieds” case just taken a bizarre turn? Or had media coverage of Loverboy’s hijinx spurred a copycat murderer? Someone Bud might have sent to prison in the past?

  She didn’t know what to think, could barely register the fact that two friends were dead, murdered in the same brutal way. “First Leah, now Bud.”

  She whirled around and knocked into Roman. For a few fleeting minutes, she’d forgotten her personal problems. Now they loomed as tall and large as the man himself, as dark and forbidding as his expression. She couldn’t deal with their controversy anymore tonight. Thank God, she didn’t have to. “That was Cage. I have to leave.”

  “Why did you say, first Leah, now Bud?” Roman’s voice was husky, edgy. “Did someone kill Bud Grimes?”

  Despite her best efforts, tears stung Kerrie’s eyes. She tightened her hands into fists and tensed her whole body, refusing to give in to the grief that scraped at the corners of her mind. She needed answers right now, clues to the identity of the monster or monsters who’d killed her two friends. Crying could wait. She swallowed over the lump clogging her throat. “Yes.”

  “Loverboy?” When she didn’t answer, Roman raised his voice. “Dammit, Irish, tell me!”

  “I don’t know.” She realized her mistake the second the words were out of her mouth; why hadn’t she denied it outright. Now, Roman would demand being let in on the investigation of Bud’s death, finding links to Wendy Waring’s case everywhere he looked. Damn. Knowing she was probably wasting her breath, she tried anyway, “There is no reason to believe Loverboy killed Bud.”

  He arched a disbelieving raven brow. “I heard you say Grimes’s throat was slit.”

  She couldn’t deny it. Nor did she have the stamina at the moment to argue with him. She just nodded and hurried from the room. A moment later she returned, carrying her coat and strapping on her gun. “Will you stay with the girls until Mom gets home? I’m needed at Bud’s.”

  “Your mom went to Sophia’s. Call and get her here. I’m going with you.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not.” She shrugged into her coat. “You’re staying the hell out of this—Bud’s murder has nothing to do with Loverboy.”

  “You don’t believe that and neither do I.” Roman put on his coat. “Quit being stubborn and call your mother.”

  Who the hell did he think he was? She gathered her car keys. He stood like a wall between the door and her. She could go out the front door, but he’d probably follow. She couldn’t leave the girls alone. Damn the man.

  Muttering to herself, she sped to the telephone and punched in Sophia’s number. She explained the situation to her mother, then hung up and faced Roman. Once again, he was inches from her. Her breath snagged as she lifted her head and stared into his eyes. Anger and hurt simmered in their golden depths, maybe even a touch of hatred, all provoked by, and directed at, her.

  But the smidgeon of smugness tugging at his sensuous mouth sent heat spiking into her cheeks. She pulled in an angry breath, inadvertently filling her senses with the tangy scent of man and after-shave that nightly haunted her dreams.

  Her temper spiraled higher. She’d love to wipe that look off his glorious face. Tell him to shove off. To stay as far away from her and her family as possible. But he wouldn’t do it. Not only was he bullheaded. He was dangerous. Better watched up close than at a distance. She poked her finger against his chest, backing him away from her. “I’m letting you tag along, but I’m warning you—keep out of the way and keep your opinions to yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shrugged playfully, grinned crookedly, sexily.

  Kerrie felt heat swirl in her belly, her body responding to the promise Roman’s smiles summoned. Gritting her teeth, she spun on her heel. “I’m going to check on the girls before we leave.”

  The darkened bedroom was lit by the…soft glow of the night-light and scented by the sweet fragrance of sleeping babies. Kerrie moved across the floor, drawing a bracing breath. Grief, love, loss, heartache, anger and fear were colliding inside her like some crazy chain-reaction pileup on a freeway. Her stomach was queasy and her hands trembled. So much for tough lady cop.

  She reached for the blanket Gabriella had once again kicked off. Hot-blooded and obstinate, just like her daddy. No. She wouldn’t think that way. Wouldn’t think about Roman. She pulled the blanket up around the baby’s shoulders, then leaned in and kissed her warm, full cheek. Thank God, she had this sanctuary to hold the evils of the world at bay.

  A floorboard creaked, startling her out of her reverie. Roman. There was something indefinably intimate about his being here with her this way. Something she couldn’t deal with. Watching her children sleep was her private joy, one she seldom shared even with her mother. His very invasion restirred her anxieties. Her selfishness. Her fear that he would snatch these two most precious possessions from her. She could barely breathe.

  Roman moved to the other crib. Maureen, her red curls sweat-dampened against her chubby cheeks, slept with her bottom in the air, her thumb in her mouth. He said, “It’s like watching an angel sleep.”

  The look on his face, the awe in his voice tore at Kerrie’s heart, at her conscience. Was he thinking of all the nights he’d missed seeing his daughters like this? Thinking of all the nights she’d denied him this tiniest indulgence, this greatest of parental pleasures? Parental rights?

  As though he’d read her mind, he said, “How could you keep this from me?”

  His hard gaze pinned her. He was numb, in shock, still reeling from the realization that he’d fathere
d these two children. Still angry as hell at her.

  “I—I…” But she had no defense. She shoved a nervous hand through her hair. If he made a genuine effort to be a part of their daughters’ lives, could she really fight it? Should she fight it?

  Without asking permission, Roman leaned over and kissed Maureen’s forehead. In that instant Kerrie realized he would always take liberties. It was his nature. The more she gave him, the more he’d take…until he’d taken everything from her.

  Left her nothing.

  The front door opened and closed, announcing Glynna’s arrival. Neither Roman nor Kerrie updated her on the outcome, or the status, of their conversation concerning the children. Kerrie told her where they’d be and how she could be reached. Then they left.

  With a flashing red light issuing from the Mazda’s roof, they were soon speeding south on I-5, weaving in and around traffic. The rain had tapered off to a mere sprinkle, but the freeway was slick, with standing water in places.

  Roman studied Kerrie’s profile, striving not to see Maureen in every line. He was still trying to make sense of this latest murder, trying to figure out how and if it fit with anything else they knew about Loverboy. “Why did you ask Cage if Grimes’s wound was self-inflicted? Why would he kill himself?”

  She pulled her gaze from the road and glanced at him. In the dim illumination from the headlights behind them, he could see her mouth puckered saucily. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know Leah and Bud were engaged?”

  Roman frowned. “Engaged?”

  “They were supposed to marry next month,” Kerrie added. Water sprayed against the car as she drove into the far left lane and onto the ramp that connected I-5 and I-405.

  Roman leaned back in his seat, his eyes focused straight ahead. He barely glanced at Southcenter Shopping Mall, barely noticed the approach of the Renton S curves. His vision was turned inward. How had his informant missed such an apparently well-known tidbit as Leah Davis being Bud Grimes’s fiancee?